Log started on Tuesday, 4 Apr 2000, 7:15 PM EST by "Greywolf4" at "Holodeck4"

The Maze
This is a maze of twisty little streets, all alike. Abandoned warehouses and office buildings spread across several blocks at the southern extent of Apollo Street, paralleled by Viking, Voyager and Gemini Streets, and cut across by Arcadia and Stardust Streets. The street lights are frequently out, the street signs keep getting defaced or stolen, and a casual stroll down the alleys would be inadvisable, Light-Cycle or Dark. Adjoining this dreary forgotten area is the Brotherhood-built park unofficially deemed "Troll Park", and nobody in their right mind heads out there at night during the Dark-Cycle.

Dawn Alert has committed many of its beat cops to assist the CSS in a stake-out for the notorious "Humpty Dumpty Killer", whose "antics" have resulted in over a hundred deaths in Luna City so far. The victims have all been pushed or thrown from considerable heights -- usually from the monorails, but it's suspected that at least one such death was from a tour zeppelin. The police have been frustrated at the killer's uncanny ability to evade capture, and the top criminal behaviorists have predicted that "Humpty" will strike again tonight, during the weeknight head-home rush after the Evening Mass.

That puts many of the Dawn Alert agents outside of its normal jurisdiction, and that also means that many of those normally not serving as beat cops -- say, detectives and associates -- have been pressed into service to help patrol the streets and make sure that criminals less famous than "Humpty" don't go on a spree while everyone's focused on the serial murderer and "copycats".

If there's going to be any trouble, it often happens out here in the neglected area dubbed "the Maze". It's still Night-Cycle, though today is Lunar Dawn, as the sun limns the buildings on the eastern horizon. Unlike the paintings that depict sunrises on ancient Earth, the lunar sky doesn't go aflame in a flurry of color, but rather the stars can still be seen quite clearly, and the sunrise has been lasting for the better part of the evening. Despite the slowly rising sun, the streets and alleys are still steeped in shadow. Beggars and lurkers scuttle away at the approach of headlights, diving into alleyways that sane people would avoid at all costs.

A lone patrol car coasts westward down Stardust Street at a leisurely pace, then turns right onto Viking, taking a northern jog that will take it next up to Arcadia. It's almost 10 p.m., which means that in the deeper parts of the city, the streets will soon be clogged with traffic as attendees at the Cathedral will flood out toward home after the end of the weeknight Evening Mass, and -- locally -- a few cars will be pouring out of Brink's Theater onto Apollo Street.

A woman with close-cropped black hair sits in the driver's seat, one hand resting lightly on the top of the wheel, the other on the gear shift. She focuses most of her attention on the road and the sidewalks as the patrol car cruises along, but from time to time she glances to her partner for the evening. After a long silence, she speaks. "So... Collins, where'd you say you were from?"

The tall broad-shouldered redhead sitting cramped in the passenger seat hunches down a bit more, reaching under the front of the seat, fiddling with the seat control. "Might get your mechanics to fix this," Jamie mutters, "This will be a long night, riding with my knees in my face."

A small smile twitches on the face of the driver, who must be at least a foot shorter than her companion. She quickly squelches it, offering, "Sorry, Collins. I asked 'em for a different car 's soon as I ... ah ... saw you, but we've got just about all our cars out on the street tonight, and too late to get one more ... appropriately sized."

The patrol car continues up Viking Street, with no other traffic visible on the street, and no cars parked alongside the way.

"I'll live, Detective. I've ridden in worse," he replies after a moment, gazing at the sidewalks and shadows on his side of the road.

There's an echoing report somewhere outside. Sounds like it is from further down the street, on up ahead.

Jamie's head tilts slightly, as he listens to the sound. "Contact, not sure if it's weapons fire, report it?" Shifting in his seat, he reaches into the back of the squad toward a long trenchcoat, the heavy folds marking it as light armor.

The driver grimaces, and presses down on the gas, accelerating out of the "leisurely patrol" mode up to slightly faster than the normal pace of traffic for this area. She jerks her head towards the radio in a motion to Collins, "Yeah, better. Frag, I hope it's just someone's car backfiring."

Grabbing the mic hanging from the dash, Jamie snaps, "Dispatch, this is ...," his voice suddenly trails off, and releasing the transmit button he asks in an aside, "Detective, what's our callsign?"

"Car 76," she answers, her eyes searching the road and the buildings alongside it as they approach the source of the sound.

Down the street, a pair of headlights race across the dark intersection where the north/south of Viking Street is crossed by the east/west run of Arcadia Street. It looks like a van, racing eastward at well over the posted limit in this area.

As the van streaks past, the driver of the patrol car flips a switch on the dash, turning on the flashers and siren. While its piercing wheeeeooo whooop whoop wheeeeeoooo shatters the night, she reflexively hits the turn signal, preparing to follow it.

There's no immediate sign of trouble visible in the darkness, illuminated by the occasional barrel fire and the even more occasional working street light (vandals keep the utilities department busy), but then ... another pair of headlights comes racing down Arcadia Street from the west, with no intention, it seems, of stopping at the intersection!

Jet curses as the second vehicle comes hot on the first's heels, and slams on the brakes enough to avoid a collision, maneuvering for a position behind the second car now.

Releasing the trenchcoat, Jamie braces against the ceiling of the squad car. "Dispatch, Car 76, heading east on Arcadia, in pursuit of a speeding van," he says crisply, raising his voice a notch as the siren kicks in.

The second car swerves a bit, and headlights clearly trace it as a black limousine -- not a stretch, but still not the sort of car one usually would see in this part of town nonetheless.

The radio squawks acknowledgment from the dispatcher, as the patrol car gives pursuit.

"Make that in pursuit of a van being pursued by a car -- a limo." Releasing the button, he glances at his partner, "Request backup?"

A few flashes can be seen from the back of the van, which careens down Arcadia, toward the intersection with Apollo. Gunfire, automatic.

"I don't suppose either one of you is going to be sensible and pull over for the nice cop, eh?" the female detective mutters as she drives after the limousine and the van. "Aw, drek!" she half-ducks at the gun fire, "Yes, backup, Collins."

As the gunfire lights the night, Jamie nods. "Dispatch, Car 76, shots fired, requesting backup," he says in the same crisp calm tone.

"Acknowledged," squawks the radio, and then the bandwidth fills with chatter, as the dispatcher tries to find the closest patrol car.

Up ahead, the van careens onto Apollo Street, narrowly missing a little Mishiman compact car heading southbound. The van looks for a moment as if it might topple ... but then cuts sharply left, now speeding northward on the street ... leading it into more populated areas.

"Please give your location, and direction of travel of the suspect?" squawks the radio.

The detective hunches behind the wheel, presenting less of a target but keeping her eyes well above the level of the dashboard, so she can still see. She clings to the trail of the limousine, braced for it to pivot and follow the van as well.

"Dispatch, Car 76, pursuit is now heading north on Apollo from Arcadia; be advised unknown occupants in the van are armed and have fired on the limo." Placing the mic back on the hook, Jamie asks, "Detective, you did check the loadout that should be in the trunk?"

A snort from the detective, and a nod. "Everything was in order. We've got riot armor there, if we need it and can get to it time. You familiar with the regular loadout, or would you like a rundown?" Her voice betrays more tension than his, lower jaw clenching and unclenching as she speaks.

It looks like someone is about to lean out of the side of the limousine ... but then ducks back in as the limo takes the sharp turn around the corner. It handles fairly well, actually. As it heads into better lighting, it looks like a Sachs -- Bauhaus, older model.

On the plus side, the license plate is now visible on the back of the limousine. "DICE-7."

The detective spares a brief glance for the Mishiman compact as her patrol car hurtles northwards in pursuit. "Tell Dispatch the limo's delta indigo charlie epsilon dash 7, Collins," she mutters.

"Excellent," Jamie replies to Jet, before picking up the mic again. *click* "Dispatch, Car 76, the pursuing limo is a Sachs, plates read 'DICE-7" delta indigo charlie echo seven. Status of backup?" *click* "I'm familiar with it, Detective"

The dispatcher squawks, "Detective Duff is responding, coming on-duty to assist. Still trying to reach a closer car in the area."

The dispatcher squawks, "Please switch to Police Channel 3."

Meanwhile, Jet reaches the intersection ... and manages to make the turn, though she's not able to take it at such a high speed that the limousine did.

Now, the van, limousine and patrol car are careening northward on Apollo Street, through the northern edge of the "Maze". Up ahead, the Rim Highway overpass can be seen -- though there are no on- or off-ramps anywhere nearby. The next intersection would be at Wolf Run Road, near the Apollo Hotel and Casino ... and also near the infamous bad intersection known as the "Grinder".

Swaying as the squad car makes the turn, Jamie 'tsks' quietly under his breath, and peers at the radio a moment to locate the control. Switching to channel 3, he asks, "Detective Duff? This is Car 76, north on Apollo, pursuit of limo and van. Over."

On channel 3, a slightly flustered voice responds, "Duff here. I'm on Yamaneko and Mulligan. Shall I block off Mulligan and Apollo?"

The traffic is still light down this far south, but there are still a few cars to weave in between along the way. It looks like gunfire is still coming from the van. The limousine weaves quite a bit to make a difficult target.

Jet exhales as they round the turn, wincing slightly. She reaches for the microphone rigged to the outside bullhorn, and clicks it on. "Vehicle DICE-7 and van, this is Dawn Alert. You are both traveling in violation of the law," she says in her best authoritarian voice, "Please pull to the side of the road now and stop your vehicles." She clicks off the mike and mumbles, "I'm sure that'll convince them."

"Coming up to Wolf Run now, Detective Duff, your call," Jamie says, and rolls down the window. "More gunfire, no return fire from the Sachs."

The van, alas, shows no sign of slowing down, nor of stopping its practice of firing back. A few sparks indicate hits on the limousine, but it looks like the vehicle must be armored -- standard feature for a Sachs, actually.

Up ahead, the light at Wolf Run Road is red ... though the van shows no signs of slowing to a stop. The limousine might be slowing just a slight bit. Several cars cross the intersection in both directions.

Duffy replies on the radio, "Proceeding to Mulligan and Apollo. I'll wait for you there. If they ram my car, I hope the department'll cover me. Man, and Taro was doing so well, too!"

The detective hesitates as she considers Duff's suggestion, and then nods at Collins' response. "Tell him we don't know where they're headed, so be prepared to move." She bites her lip and shakes her head at the scene ahead on Wolf Road.

The van shoots through the intersection, swerving to avoid several near-misses, and one of the cars veers off and hits a fire hydrant, while the others just stop. The limousine slows as it nears the intersection, and the patrol car is quickly gaining on it.

The van, in better lighting, appears to be ... an ice cream truck? What with all the chaos of the run red-light, though, it's not possible to get a clear make on the plate.

Quickly switching channels, Jamie snaps, "Dispatch, Car 76, vehicle into fire hydrant at Wolf Run and Apollo." Shaking his head slightly as he sees what the van is, he adds, "We are continuing pursuit of van and limo, north on Apollo. If someone is missing an ice cream van, we're chasing it."

The limousine, meanwhile, veers toward the left ... and then looks as if it's going to try making a high-speed turn to the right, down Wolf Run Road. The patrol car is just about onto the intersection.

Duffy calls on the radio, "On Apollo and Mulligan. I'm covering the street but it's not possible to block all lanes with one car. I've got my gun out; if they're coming up this way, I can try to discourage 'em."

Clicking the mike on again, Jet says, "I repeat, DICE-7, halt your vehicle." She flicks the mike off, and prepares to go through the intersection in pursuit of the van, unless the limo heeds her directive.

The limousine makes the right turn onto Wolf Run, but it dings an Imperial-made car, sending a spray of headlight glass onto the pavement, as the limousine careens eastward in the wrong lane for a moment, then bumps over the median back into the east-bound lane.

For the moment, at least, all other traffic has halted through the intersection, leaving the patrol car a more-or-less clear avenue of pursuit after either vehicle.

Another quick shake of her head, and the patrol car driver floors the pedal as she speeds through the cleared intersection in pursuit of the van. "Did you tell Dispatch and Duff that the only shots we've seen so far came from the van?"

"Dispatch, the Sachs is now heading east on Wolf Run into the Grinder, we are still in pursuit of the van north on Apollo." Jamie switches back to channel 3 again. "Detective Duff? The van is heading your ... joyous day." Switching back yet again, he adds, "Dispatch, make sure an ambulance is dispatched to Wolf and Apollo; another car was struck."

Twisting his head side to side to loosen his neck up, Jamie grunts, then says, "Yes, Detective, I did, but I'll repeat it."

"10-4," comes Duffy's reply. "If the van's headed up this way, they can expect pretty slow going. Looks like Brink's had a busy night. Keep me posted."

Ahead, the ice cream van careens toward the three-way intersection of Apollo Street with Yamaneko and Francisco. This could get really ugly. It looks like Francisco Street currently has the green light, running northeast and southwest. Up ahead, further down Apollo Street, it looks like the after-Mass traffic jam is in full session, up by Brink's.

Now, it seems that the gunfire from the ice cream van is focused on the patrol car instead of the limousine, though nothing has hit yet.

"Right." She pauses, then adds, "Collins, Dispatch monitors all channels--fraggit!" she curses as the van turns fire on her vehicle, then checks out their surrounding, trying to appraise the likelihood of bystanders being struck by gunfire.

With the radio microphone clenched in his left hand, Jamie draws his MP-105 from the shoulder holster. "They are starting to annoy me." The casual tone of voice is as calm as his face, almost blase'. Pressing transmit, he says, "Roger that, Detective Duff. Van is the only source of the gunfire, small arms."

Duffy radios back, "What happened, road rage?"

It looks like there are a few hits on the hood, but the low-caliber weapons aren't doing anything to the squad car's forward armor. Meanwhile, the van skids into the intersection, making a 30-degree turn north-east onto Francisco Street, cutting under the bridge that joins the Apollo Casino with the Apollo Hotel.

Cars screech to halts, and horns blare, but at least nobody crashed this time.

Her normally brown knuckles are clenched tightly enough on the steering wheel to whiten, but Jet gives a dry chuckle for Duffy's joke anyway. She braces herself and spins the car after the ice-cream truck, her vehicle's engine and tires complaining at the ill abuse.

Once again tsking under his breath, Jamie presses transmit. "Detective Duff, ice cream is now heading northeast on Francisco, we are pursuing."

Jet's car handles the turn far better than the ice-cream truck, and she manages to gain considerable ground on the van. She's now close enough to make out the license plate -- XNLA-4412, a general Luna City plate -- no corporate tag.

"Tell Duff to try to block Lynx," the woman says curtly, her attention focused on the road and the truck before them.

The mic is dropped into Jamie's lap as he leans toward the open window. Gripping the pistol with both hands, he pokes it out and braces it against the car's frame. Raising his voice to carry clearly over the noise from the wind rushing by and siren overhead, he says, "Hold it steady, Detective, please, I'm going for a tire."

Duffy replies, "They'll T-bone at Brink's then if they don't take Lynx Boulevard. I'm guessing they're headed for the Rim Highway."

She spares a quick glance for the man beside her. "Acknowledged," she says, returning her attention to the road, but reaching over with one hand to grab the cord on the radio mike, intending to haul it over and relay the message herself.

Sparks fly from the pavement in a line of gunfire tracing its course toward the van. The MP-105, a caseless weapon, doesn't expel any shells as it fires at the van's tires.

The van careens past the intersection with Gryphon Street. Thankfully, there's no traffic to speak of there, though the Corley Motors shop is just to the side.

The van responds with a spray of bullets that bounce off of the patrol car's hood.

Retrieving the radio, Jet flicks it on one-handed, "Duff, try to intercept at Lynx and Lucas? Over."

Jamie's eyes narrow in the wind as he gauges the results of that burst, and adjusts his aim for the next burst. A quick glance to check for possible complications, then he fires again.

"Working on it," comes the radio reply from Duffy.

The MP-105 tears into the right rear tire of the ice cream van as it passes the intersection with Gryphon Street. It lurches to the right, jumping the curb and crashing into the parking lot. Lined-up Corley Motors bikes fall down like dominos as the van bashes through their front forks and tires, and then it skids and falls over on its side, the metal crumpling visibly and the back doors flying all the way open.

Jamie winces for a second as the van smashes into the bikes, and leans back. "You cover and yell for surrender, I'll grab a Boke when we stop and move to toss if needed," he says as he grabs his coat, pulling it forward.

For the moment, it looks like the area is clear of any pedestrians -- and potential hostages. The patrol car is now able to easily close on the toppled van.

The patrol car driver cringes at the collateral damage, even as she drops the radio mike beside her to recover the bullhorn mike. She slows her vehicle as they approach Corley Motors, and says over the bullhorn, "XNLA-4412, drop your weapons and get out of the truck slowly. Keep your hands in plain sight." Clicking off the bullhorn, she nods to Collins. "Acknowledged."

One prone form can be seen lying halfway out of the back of the truck. Meanwhile, it looks like a couple of burly bikers have come out of "One for the Road" in response to the commotion ... and they start making some of their own, letting out a long string of epithets and curses, and rushing back inside.

Exchanging the bullhorn mike for the radio as she brings the car to a halt around ten meters away from the overturned truck, she tells Duffy, "Van's grounded at the Corley Motors parking lot. Proceed to our position. We've got a lot of damaged bikes here, could be trouble with the locals, Dispatch."

The radio reply comes back, "What about the limo?"

Just before the squad car rolls to a halt, Jamie jumps out and crouches down. Pulling his coat on as he juggles the machine pistol from hand to hand, he waits behind the car for the trunk to open.

"Limo last sighted headed east on Wolf Run, away from Apollo, Duff," Jet relays.

"10-4. They may have been trying for the Uriel on-ramp for the Rim Highway," Duff's voice replies. "I'll head your way and back you up. No chance we can catch that limo now if that's the case."

"Acknowledged." As the patrol car halts, Jet triggers a lever on the dashboard to pop the trunk open.

A Roadking comes down Lucas Street, toward the scene. While the top of the van is now facing Car 76, its front end points toward the spot that the Roadking now rolls up to, and its doors open back toward the Corley Motors shop and the bar on the other end of the parking lot.

After taking a moment to free a riot shield, Jamie stuffs a smoke and a boke grenade into his trenchcoat pockets. "6 fired, 52 left," he mutters absently as he picks up the shield and begins to trot toward the van.

Just then, a skinny-looking punk with a rod going through his nose hops up from where he seemed to be prone on the ground, and aims a Windrider SMG in the general direction of Officer Collins, bracing the plastic-and-metal weapon with both hands. He pulls the trigger ... and the bullpup SMG makes a clicking noise.

Easing the door beside her open, Jet unholsters her own MP-105, and snags the cords for both the bullhorn and radio mike with her other hand. She nudges the door the rest of the way open with her knee, then slides out and levels her gun at the truck, using the car and door for cover. After she lifts the bullhorn mike in her free hand, the words, "Drop your weapon, punk," reverberate through the parking lot.

The battered old Roadking-- it looks to be a model A-- pauses at the intersection of Lucas with Arkold, then heads down Francisco and pulls over on the side toward the casino. A little later, a Rottweiler-patterned dog-man in a fairly good trenchcoat gets out on the driver's side toward the altercation, a Bolter visible in his hands and pointing toward the truck.

The punk freezes, gasping for breath so much his scrawny chest shakes visibly, and his hold on the gun wavers. "Anarchy RULES!" he yells in a cracking voice.

Jamie pulls back to the squad car, placing it 'tween him and the SMG fire he's expecting in a moment. Crouching, he puts his pistol down as he pulls the Boke grenade out of his pocket.

Jet positions the bullhorn mike next to her gun, so that the click of her gun's safety coming off echoes through the lot. "DA rules here and now, punk. DROP. YOUR. GUN."

The punk's adam's apple runs up and down his neck, and then the Windrider falls from his hands, the empty clip popping out of the cheap mass-produced weapon as it impacts the ground with the sound of cracking plastic. He shakily puts up his hands...

Duffy aims for behind the van and squeezes off a warning shot. "The lady means it! Drop that now!"

The punk jolts and dives for the ground, as the shot's report echoes across the parking lot. A few bikers coming out of "One for the Road" pause momentarily at the gunfire.

"Smart move, kid." The woman nods her approval. "Drop to your knees and keep your arms over your head. You got any friends in that van, punk?"

Jamie probably doesn't realize he's tsking under his breath as he shoves the boke grenade back into his pocket. "Cover me," he snaps as he picks up the MP-105 and charges for the van.

A spray of gunfire shoots from somewhere behind the van, though the firer can't be seen from Jamie's perspective. It appears to be directed for Duff and his car.

Duffy dives for the side, "Frak!"

Headlight glass shatters, and Duffy's car is demonstrably not armored like the patrol car, as bullet-holes erupt along the fender and driver's side door.

Jamie has now closed half the distance between himself and the van. It would seem that someone is on the other side, using it for cover -- and is the source of the gunfire raining on Duffy and his car. The punk who ran out of ammo, however, is still in plain sight and on the ground.

"That thing was paid for!" bellows Duffy as he tries to retreat behind the still relatively solid car, covering his move with return fire, trying to wing the person on the other side.

There's another spray of gunfire from behind the van. Duffy's car gets a little shorter, as the two closer tires deflate. Meanwhile, though, this proves to be enough distraction for Jamie to reach the van.

Swerving to run just past the quaking punk on the ground, Jamie dips into a crouch just long enough to tap the kid lightly with the shield. "Run for the squad car!" he bellows before he slams into the side of the van to stop.

Duffy, from behind his car, calls out, "Last chance to stop before I shoot to kill! I mean it, we're Dawn Alert!" He ducks, expecting the response to be by bullet-mail.

Sure enough, Duffy is answered in lead. "Die, Fuzz!" shrieks a vaguely female voice -- presumably the firer, located behind the van.

The woman by the squad car keeps her MP-105 trained on the unarmed punk, giving him a nod to indicate that it's safe for him to obey Collins, although whether or not the kid can discern the gesture from his position is unclear.

Duffy waits a bit 'til the shooter's out of lead before he peeks out and tries to get a bead on her. Keeps their attention off of whatever Jet and her partner have planned, and the perps sound fairly gun-happy anyway.

Meanwhile, Jamie hears some movement inside the van, though it's too dark inside to make out details. The unarmed kid gets up and makes a mad dash away from the van. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot! I surrender!"

There's a distinctive click of a hammer hitting an empty chamber from behind the van, and the sound of a gun being tossed aside, clattering to the ground.

Jamie moves to the corner of the van, trying to visualize where the person would be, based on the sounds of the weapon and the voice. MP-105 aimed up, he steps around the corner of the van, spinning a kick...

Duffy pops up from behind his car and aims for the female punk's shoulder, trying to get a good fix in before he opens fire... unless she's got another gun ready to hand.

As Jamie comes around the side, he spies a spike-haired woman in leather, her skin riddled with studs and rings. One Ronin pistol lies on the ground, but it looks like she has another gun -- presently in her hand -- while her other hand holds a grenade. She is turned to face Duffy at present, crouching slightly for some cover behind the van.

A heavy slug from Duffy's Bolter crashes into the shoulder of the female punk, even as Jamie comes around, his kick spinning into her as she is knocked about by the impact of the heavy weapon.

She has only the presence of mind to pull the trigger on her Ronin, which fires wildly, scoring hits only on empty air, pavement, and the bottom of the van. From inside, there's a choked cry.

At Jamie's kick, the Ronin is knocked from her hand, and goes skidding across the pavement.

When the fleeing punk reaches a point a meter or so from the squad car, the detective waiting there says, "That's close enough. Drop to the ground, kid." She keeps her attention and gun trained on him for the moment.

Duffy's eyes widen as he catches sight of the grenade. He tries to catch sight of whether (we should be so lucky) the pin's still in, and keeps his Bolter on the woman. "Get clear! She's got a grenade, it could be armed," he yells to Jamie.

The skinny punk from earlier drops to the ground at Jet's order.

The grenade rolls from the woman's hand as she hits the ground hard.

Duffy yells, "TAKE COVER! Back off, back off, back off! IT'S LIVE!" He gets ready to duck behind his car once it goes off, his eyes flicking across the van to see if anyone else is in it and ready to get out.

Inside the van, there's the sound of breaking glass. From Duffy's point of view, though -- seeing the front of the van, rather than the rear -- he can only make out a prone form slumped over the wheel, lying sideways.

Snarling, Jamie snapkicks at the grenade, trying to boost it out into the middle of the street away from the vehicles and "One for the Road", before dropping down to crouch behind the shield with his coat pulled over his head.

"Darkin'," the female cop mutters as she catches Duffy's yell, ducking behind her own vehicle and fumbling to push her gas mask into position from where it currently rests around her throat.

Jamie's kick sends the grenade off the street, where it rolls into a small (and empty) parking lot and explodes in a ball of flame and shrapnel. Bits of gravel rain down on Jamie's riot shield.

Duffy lets out a breath and then inches back up carefully, sweeping his Bolter over the scene. They should be pretty well demoralized by now and willing to listen to reason... he hopes.

Inside the van can be heard some gurgling noises, and more breaking glass, followed by a guttural roar.

The dog-man mutters to himself, "That doesn't sound very good." He calls to Jamie and Jet, "Got Boke? There's a thrasher in the car. I don't think they're in a mood for coming along quietly... and I don't stock Boke for a drive to Little Mercury."

Leaving her gas mask over her mouth and nose, Jet stands and locates the skinny punk once more, training her gun on him as she eases her way around the patrol car, unhooking hand cuffs from her belt and preparing to pat him down and cuff him to the car.

There's the sound of rending metal. Jet can see the roof of the van -- the side facing her -- tearing open.

"Cardinal's blessing on that stupid stunt, indeed," Jamie thinks as he shakes off the bits of road surface sprayed over him. Stepping over to the bottom of the van, he holsters the MP-105 as he nods to Duffy.

Something cylindrical sticks through the hole in the roof of the van. Too large for a gun barrel, but it definitely looks like a weapon. Grenade-launcher, perhaps.

"Use it, for the Cardinal's sake, I don't know what the heck they're on," Duffy calls back. He tries to pop the trunk on his Roadking so he can get to his gas mask.

"Durand's spirit," the woman swears as she watches the van. "Boke that truck, COLLINS!"

Stepping toward the back of the toppled van, Jamie snags the ring on the pin with his teeth. A quick jerk of his head, then he reaches around to toss the Boke grenade inside.

The grenade rattles inside, and foul fumes start bursting outward, as there's a flash and a projectile launches from the torn roof from the van. In the momentary flash, Jamie can see a prone driver slumped over the wheel ... and an overly large, overly muscular man who seems to be positively bursting out of his leather jacket, his veins swollen and pronounced all over his body, and his face twisted in a feral rage.

Duffy grits his teeth and tries to jam his car key in the trunk lock while keeping one eye and a Bolter toward the action. "Taro'll be riding home in a squad car tonight, I expect," he mutters.

The key goes in and turns. The trunk pops open. Meanwhile, gas billows out of the van., and a projectile arcs over toward Jet and the squad car.

Duffy fumbles for his mask, desperate to get it on before the whiffs of Boke reach him. "Darkin' lucky shot--"

Stepping lightly back away from the van, Jamie keeps a wary eye on the fumes while wishing he brought his mask with him. At the bang of the launcher, his face blanches as he quickdraws and sprays the van with a burst.

With her attention still on the van since seeing the roof tear open, the cop spots the grenade headed her way and immediately dives away from the squad car, headed towards the van, since that was the direction she presently faced.

The shell hits the ground just behind the squad car. The force of the explosion knocks the rear of the car up in the air a couple of feet, as a fireball erupts, spraying burning tendrils outward, and leaving little puddles of brightly-burning material on the asphalt, while the squad car lands hard back on its rear wheels.

Meanwhile, Jamie's shots riddle the interior of the van, another burst of six shots.

Foul fumes billow further out from the van ... and overtake Jamie. The results are most unpleasant, as he is suddenly filled with a stomach-churning sensation, and his body begins to sweat profusely, while all of his sinuses begin to work on overdrive, and the bile swells in his throat.

Duffy wurfles unhappily inside his mask, which is a special muzzle-fitting model made for Capitol dog-soldiers. "Can't Darkin' smell anything in this," he mutters as the canned air starts circulating, then starts moving carefully toward Jamie's position to give him backup, Bolter trained on the female punk, gaze sweeping from her to the van to the squad car.

"Target was about ... there," Jamie thinks, aiming more carefully while looking over the damage done by his hasty burst. Choking in harsh surprise as the fumes wash over him, Jamie begins moving away from the van while trying to avoid tripping over any of the fallen bikes.

The other detective rolls to her feet after her dive, and attempts to bring her gun to bear on the van, trying to spot the steroid monster she saw earlier within it.

The van shakes, as someone ... or something ... staggers out. In the haze of the boke gas, a distorted, overgrown figure can be seen, body swollen in strange places, veins pulsating. Every orifice runs freely, as the man is evidently not totally immune to Boke. Nonetheless, he's still standing, not squirming on the ground like most people would be. His hide is covered with swirling patterns of tattoos, which move unnervingly with the twitching of his skin. He drops a pack filled with large vial-like containers full of a faintly glowing blue liquid, and he grabs one of them, smashing the glass as he holds it over his head, and pouring the contents into his swollen mouth.

Duffy's muffled voice calls to Jet, "I think... We need backup!" He draws a bead on the man's head, the only place he thinks he's going to be able to take this guy down.

The man-thing looks at Duffy with a feral glare, his eyes unnerving ... for it seems that, somehow, even the whites of his eyes have been tattooed with a symbol that looks like a variation on the "anarchy" sign, only with a vertical line slashing down the center, broken only by the pupil. The man-thing holds the expended one-shot grenade launcher ... and then, with a flex of muscles that pulsate the wrong way, he flings it end-over-end at Duffy!

The female cop squeezes a burst off towards the freak, then runs back for the car, moving to fetch the radio mike.

Duffy snaps off a shot and tries to dive to the side!

Jet's hurried shot goes slightly off, impacting an open door of the back of the ice cream van, while Duffy's shot imbeds itself somewhere in the man-thing's torso ... with no discernible effect, other than making another red spot.

The hurled grenade-launcher, meanwhile, soars right for Duffy ... and smashes into him!

The thrown object hits Duff in the torso; his bullet-proof vest offers scant protection against this sort of attack, but every little bit counts. He's knocked to the ground. Better to get hit by the launcher than the grenade, at least.

Kneeling down, Jamie hides behind the riot shield as he hacks and coughs, the harsh sound shaking his chest as he tries to clear his lungs. "GAH, arrgghh," Jamie wheezes, trying to holster his MP-105 again.

Duffy crumples around the grenade launcher, his breath momentarily squeezed out of him. "Ohhh, that's going to hurt," he thinks to himself before getting a grip on the rough metal of his car.

Grabbing the radio mike, she speaks hurriedly into it. "Dispatch, we have an officer down at Corley Motors, by Francisco and Lucas. Need immediate backup, steroid freak on drugs at scene, still functional post-Boke."

"Acknowledged," squawks the radio.

The man-thing makes a bestial roar ... then charges toward Jamie!

She drops the radio onto the seat again and stands, leveling her MP-105 with both hands at the quasi-human.

As it does so, the "blue stuff" must be kicking in, as the body swells and pulsates even more, accented by what sounds like the cracking of bones.

Duffy peeks out from behind his car, which has been doing an awful lot of service... then swears, "Frak!" He flips the switch on his gun to semi-auto and again sights in on the steroid nut's head.

With the gun on full auto, Jet pumps rounds towards the monster.

Four out of six of Jet's shots hit the thing, one of them blasting through its head. Red and blue and black ichor and blood and foreign materials explode as bullets rip into the creature's body, as larger shells rip chunks out of the creature from Duffy's position.

Missing part of its head, the overgrown behemoth staggers toward Jamie...

Having wiped his mouth, and then the back of his hand on a clear spot of his trenchcoat, Jamie nods and leaps forward. A flying sidekick is aimed for the freak's head, trying to add the target's momentum to the force of his blow.

"Durand's blood," Duffy whispers as he sees the less than completely effective results of his shots and Jamie's action.

The head of the behemoth already seems to be losing some of its structure for a moment, as Jamie aims a kick for the head, now coming within reach since the hulk staggers forward. For an instant, it seems to Jamie almost as if some bluish goop is trying to fill the gaps in the thing's head ... but his foot connects, and the already shattered remnants of the skull fragment upon impact, as the head explodes in a burst of foul ichor, and the pulsating body crashes into the ground.

Her expression grim, the human cop ceases fire as Jamie leaps at her target. She watches the thing go down with her jaw set, the muzzle of her MP-105 tracking on its body even as it hits the pavement.

Jamie hops awkwardly for a moment, frantically trying to regain his balance as the expected stop when his foot connected doesn't quite happen as planned.

The body continues to quiver and pulsate, as bluish-black ichor flows out where the head once, and oozes out of so many bullet holes, and the body seems to be slowly deflating and disintegrating at Jamie's feet.

Duffy rasps, "That's one fellow I don't think we're taking in to Ryker's." He straightens up, wincing at a sore spot on his side, then starts approaching the scene again with his Bolter covering the body.

Although she keeps her gun trained on the disintegrating body, Jet takes a glance around at the scene to determine the status and position of the other two perps.

Stepping back away from the goo, Jamie nods. "At least not without several sponges and a large trash bag," he rumbles, voice harsh from the Boke.

"Got the cuffs? You can cover, Danzwyck and I can cuff 'em," suggests Duffy.

As a sudden thought breaks through, Jamie glances over toward the van, trying to spot the woman he and Duffy dropped.

The punk kid is still on the ground, hacking and wheezing, having been caught up in the boke cloud. The woman behind the van seems to be out cold, and might well be drowning in her own vomit at this point.

There are a few bikers gathered back at the bar, but it seems that, upon seeing this particular gruesome scene, they aren't quite ready to come and join in on the riot right now.

After replacing the safety on her gun, Danzwyck holsters it and cuffs the boked punk nearest her, although she thinks better of putting him in the car just yet. "Keep an eye on this one, Collins? I'll make sure there aren't any more in the truck."

Duffy surveys the scene, then starts moving toward Jet to give her a hand with the cuffing. "Yeah, there's a driver. I think a stray shot hit him too," he says to Danzwyck. "Other than that-- well, unless they can hold their breath real well..."

Rumbling, "Got it, Detective," Jamie draws his machine pistol and moves over to stand by the damaged squad car and the cuffed punk.

A short while later, an ambulance and two other squad cars are on the scene. Jamie is checked, and the woman who had been clobbered by Duffy and Jamie is taken off to the hospital -- under guard, of course. The punk kid is taken away in shackles, while the two remaining perps -- one fatally shot, and the other ... liquefied ... will give the coroner something to do.

Danzwyck radios dispatch while the mop up proceeds. "Any word on the limo?"

"DICE-7 been reported stolen yet?" Jamie asks at random, watching the clean-up.

"A vehicle matching that description was seen on the MacArthur Expressway, heading toward Masterville Communications Center. The CSS highway patrol has been alerted. The ice cream truck has been checked out, reported stolen this morning," the radio squawks.

Click. "What about DICE-7? Had it been stolen, or is there no word yet? Over."

"Well, hope the vehicle pool techs are feeling in a kindly mood," Duffy whurfs unhappily as he's finally doffed the gas mask now that the lingering traces have faded away. "Can you have Dispatch call me a tow truck to get my car down to the station? And I'll need a squad car pick-up so I can go get Taro later. Darkin' lucky kitsune's been on a date with Miss Blue while we were dealing with Mr. Fun Guy."

"There's no registration on DICE-7," reports the dispatcher. "Suspect a forged plate."

Duffy checks the time. "On second thought, I might as well ride on the tow truck back to the station and check out a squad car there. Hey, how's your car? I thought the flash behind it looked awfully unhealthy."

Jet taps the silenced microphone for a moment with one finger. "Funny that there'd be a forged DICE-7 so close to the Apollo," she murmurs, before radioing in Duffy's request.

Replacing the partially used clip in the MP, Jamie listens quietly as the two detectives talk.

After asking for the tow, Danzwyck turns to eye the back of her vehicle. "I think it'll live, tough ol' thing. We could give you a ride with us if you don't want to wait for the tow." click "What's the ETA on Duffy's tow, Dispatch? Over."

Duffy scratches behind his head. "This is the Elles... There's probably some shop in the Maze that churns out plates for stolen cars. Nah, I'll stick here 'til the tow truck comes by."

"Give us about twenty minutes, Car 76," squawks the dispatcher.

Duffy adds, "'sides, I don't want to find my fuzzy dice missing when I get my car back," with a self-deprecating chuckle.

"Yeah, but why churn out custom forged plates? Pretty stupid, drawing that kind of attention to a fake," the woman muses thoughtfully. "Still, plenty of stupid crooks on the moon." She sighs. "Okay, fine, fine, you wait here, Collins and I will go get a head start on the wonderful paperwork."

Duffy nods to Jet. "Probably some drug dealer living it up. Yeah, I don't envy you." He shakes his head at the scene.

Jamie doesn't say anything, just stows the riot shield in the trunk and then slumps down in the passenger seat.

As she slips into the driver's seat and closes the door, her muffled voice can be heard asking, "So, where did you say you were from...?"

*** GM Note: Hero Points awards -- Jamie: 3; Jet: 3; Duffy: 3. Totals so far: Jamie: 3; Jet: 5; Duffy: 8.

Log stopped on Tuesday, 4 Apr 2000, 11:00 PM EST by "Greywolf4" at "Holodeck4"